Blade of the Immortal (2017)

Director: Takashi Miike

A decent, if a bit overstuffed, cartoonish adaptation of a popular, violent samurai-era manga.

The story is based on the hit Japanese manga (comic book) series of the same name by writer and artist Hiroaki Samura. I was a fan of this comic back in the late 1990s and early 2000s, and had kept up with the series for about half of its considerable length. So I was curious when I heard that hyper-prolific Japanese director Takashi Miike (13 Assassins) adapted it into film.

The story is set in feudal Japan, in the thick of the samurai era. A lethally-skilled mercenary known as "Manji" has blood infused with "blood worms," which heal any wounds with amazing speed. This makes Manji virtually immortal, though he seems to be dejected and devoid of purpose in life. That is until a young woman, Rin, seeks his aid in satisfying her desire for revenge. She wants to find and kill Anotsu Kagehisa, the young leader of a group of revolutionaries who want to destroy the long-standing system of formal fighting schools in Japan. Kagehisa and his band, contrary to traditional fighting school structures, uses unorthodox fighting weapons and techniques, making them all heretics in the eyes of the established martial arts schools. Rin wants Kagehisa dead because he killed her father and mother, due to her father's rejection of Kagehisa's revolutionary ideas. Finding and getting to him are no easy feat, however, as the young upstart is surrounded by a large band of ruthless and highly-skilled minions.

Blade of the Immortal is a pretty wild ride, though one that I was prepared for from having read the manga. Director Takashi Miike is known for very flashy, violent movies, and this one is right in his wheelhouse.  The story is populated by colorful - both visually and personality-wise - oddball characters, nearly all of whom range from "violent" to "murderously deranged." As Manji and Rin work their way towards Kagehisa, nearly every edged weapon you can imagine flies, along with buckets of blood. It's stylish, vibrant, and brutal.

Manji squares off against a whole bunch 'o dudes. This is a
pretty typical situation for the deathless, irritable samurai
without a master. His immortality, along with his immense
fighting skills, help even the odds, though.

But is it good? Yeah, I thought so. Not great, but compelling and entertaining enough. It probably would have been better served as a mini-series, though (I just learned that this is exactly what has happened - a full anime series started in late 2018). Despite clocking in at a good two hours and twenty minutes, the movie often felt rushed, introducing and cramming too many new characters down our throats in rapid succession. Most of the key adversaries are strange characters in and of themselves, each of whom could have been given more time in order to reveal the odd and sometimes highly-twisted aspects of their motivations and psyches. As it was, though, a new fighting weirdo would show up, trade blows with Manji, then get killed within a few minutes. After roughly three minutes of slower story, that cycle would repeat. And so it went for the entire second act of the film.

The original manga was a fun, modern, and fantastical take on violent samurai tales, and the movie maintains that spirit. It looks and feels rather campy much of the time, and the final battle scene, as epic as it is, drags out for too long in my opinion. Still, I enjoyed with one, as I imagine others will who want to see a well-done, live-action movie version of a story usually told in comic book or cartoon form. 

Retro Trio: The Great Beauty (2013); Hara-Kiri: The Death of a Samurai (2011); Bad Santa (2003)

This is Gep, in one of the countless amazing shots presented
in this outstanding movie.

The Great Beauty (2013)

Original Italian Title: La Grande Bellezza

Director: Paulo Sorrentino

An outstanding film, with an embarrassment of film technique riches.

For the first ten minutes or so of The Great Beauty, one might think they've been lured into an endless patchwork of visual imagery, with no clear or personal narrative. The film opens with several sequences of tourists marveling at and photographing some of the well-worn paths and sights of Rome, to a background of choir song. We then shift to a raucous nighttime party, which includes revelers of various ages and states of drunkenness and euphoria. Just when you think that film is simply going to be a visual panorama of the ancient city and its denizens, though, the film slows and focuses on a dapper gentleman in his sixties, who begins to narrate his perspective. This is Gep Gambardella - the heart and soul of The Great Beauty.

Gep is a writer who has produced nothing for over three decades. In his youth, though, he wrote a modern Italian masterpiece. Rather than build on this success by continuing his craft, though, he changed his goal to becoming the grandmaster of the Roman socialite scene. And he succeeded. For years and years, he was the epicenter of the social and artistic party world in the city.

Now, however, Gep is growing weary of the endless dance. Following Gep around the city, as he searches for more meaningful personal connections and even contemplates taking up his pen again, is a fantastic trip. He is affable, incredibly insightful and imaginative, and humorous, despite occasionally wearing his condescension on his sleeve. Watching Gep slowly disconnect from the shallower, more carnal, material realm that has been his comfort zone for so long, while he tries to reconnect with his own artistic nature, is captivating. And with his writer's eye, he is always aware of his own actions, in multiple contexts, and his commentary is priceless.

This vibrant sequence, in addition to being a visually dazzling,
has a depth, complexity, and tragedy to it that can only be
experienced by viewing the film. It's one of many of its kind in
the movie.

If Gep provides the emotional and intellectual substance of the film, cinematographer Luca Bigazzi provides the visual substance. Like an amazing number of Italian films, nearly every shot and sequence is perfectly framed and executed. You could pause the film at nearly any moment and be looking at something that could be hanging in an art gallery. Both the expansive exterior landscape shots and the interiors of the classical buildings are presented in all their glory, much to any film viewer's delight.

Gep's is a very personal story, but the context in which is occurs is just as important a theme. The writer's perspective has shifted to one of disgust for the hedonism that has consumed much of his city, including himself. It is a harsh criticism, and one that predictably resulted in confusion and outright anger from Italian intellectuals and artists who saw the film. Whether this was because they thought it was a gross, self-hating misrepresentation or whether they were uncomfortable seeing their own reflections a little too clearly, I can only guess.

The Great Beauty is too rich a film to adequately encapsulate in a post like this one. It should be clear, though, that I greatly enjoyed the film and will enjoy another viewing of it. Highly recommended.

Hara-Kiri: The Death of a Samurai (2011)

Director: Miike, Takashi

I was excited about this movie, having thoroughly enjoyed Miike's 13 Assassins. This other samurai period drama is equally as good, though in mostly different ways.

Hara-Kiri opens somewhat slowly, but very hypnotically. We watch as a local leader of a powerful clan of samurai grants an audience to a ragged-looking man who claims to be a ronin - a masterless samurai - who has lost his feudal lord, and who seeks to commit ritual suicide on their grounds, in an effort to reclaim his honor. The leader is quietly informed that this is likely a scam, with the ronin hoping that he will be given a modest amount of money and be sent on his way. This suspicion is confirmed when the samurai on the grounds find that the ronin's "sword" is a wooden fake. Instead of merely chiding and banishing him, they sadistically force him to go through with the suicide, with the wooden sword.

This scene is brutal to watch, as it is meant to be. What follows is a slow and painful revelation of exactly who the ronin was, and how he found himself in such dire straits. We watch a sad tale of love, poverty, and hope repeatedly dashed, forcing a young man into taking a gamble that ends horrifically.

This may all sound like a painful viewing experience, and it certainly is at several points in the film. There is much of the stuff of high melodrama, complete with tears of anguish and string music. However, there is far more to the tale to recommend it to those of us who have less interest in simply being depressed. Highly involved in the story is the young man's father-in-law, Kageyu, a former samurai of an clan who had been wiped out. When Kageyu becomes involved in his son's death, the movie becomes a study of the ostensible and often hypocritical notion of "honor" in medieval samurai culture. This analysis is what vaults this movie beyond most of its ilk.

Kageyu takes theh pose of ritual suicide, a posture that is
the touchstone for the entire picture. 

And in case you were wondering if there are any decent sword fights, the answer is a hearty "yes." Though they are few and far between for the first 90 minutes of the film or so, the movie ends with a wild one-man-versus-dozens whirlwind of sharp steel and righteous indignation. On its surface, it might seem like sensational, gratuitous action. But when you realize just what is driving that single warrior to fight so hard, the grander statement sinks in deeper and deeper. The final effect is powerful, to say the least.

Hara-Kiri: The Death of a Samurai is a great modern entry into an already-rich canon of samurai films. Highly recommended for anyone who doesn't mind a more brooding, challenging look at one of the most romanticized figures in the history of warfare.

Bad Santa (2003)

Director: Terry Zwigoff

Bad Santa is filthy, raw, and unrelenting. And it's hilarious.

The mission of this movie is clear, right from the jump: take the most cherished, purportedly selfless holiday in the land and tell a borderline-X-rated story centered on it. Mission riotously accomplished. Billy Bob Thornton plays Willie - a completely degenerate, alcoholic safe-cracker who, with his partner Marcus, poses as a mall Santa Claus in order to case the joint and rob the place blind on Christamas Eve.

You can probably guess where the humor derives from: the gloriously foul-mouthed, slovenly Willie interacting with hopeful kids is one area, but his generally fatalistic, hedonistic attitude towards the universe is the grander source of comedy. In a move that is initially self-serving, Willie invites himself into the home of Thurman - a socially awkward young boy who believes he is the real Santa Claus, and whose father is in prison for embezzlement. Willie takes every possible advantage of the naive Thurman, spewing language fit for a bar filled with drunken soldiers. Some of the funniest bits are Willie's puzzlement over Thurman's relentless attempts to gain his friendship, which Thornton converys through countless great facial expressions and deliveries of dialogue.

There's not a lot more to say about Bad Santa. If you haven't seen it, there is this clear positive: you will be able to tell whether you'll enjoy it by watching no more than the first 3 minutes. That's as long as it takes to get a sense of the film's humor, the protagonist's depravity, and the oncoming onslaught of linguistic filth. If you watch those initial moments and find yourself chuckling, then you'll certainly enjoy this extremely off-beat Christmas flick.

Film #53: Yojimbo (1961)

Title for Us English-Speaking Types: “The Bodyguard”

Director: Akira Kurosawa

Initial Release Country: Japan

Times Previously Seen: once (about 8 years ago)

Teaser Summary (no spoilers)

Skilled, masterless samurai whittles away two rival gangs in a dusty Japanese village. Drinks plenty of sake.

Uncut Summary (A full plot synopsis, including spoilers. Fair warning)

In 19th century feudal Japan, Sanjuro Kuwabakate (Toshiro Mifune), a drifter samurai with no retainer, wanders into a tiny village. He soon runs into a small horde of raggedy hoods who bar his path through the town. Not itching for a fight (yet), he casually retreats into the tiny nearby sake shop. While there, the owner, Gonji (Eijiro Tono), explains the ill-fated town's situation. The entire village is the setting of a current stalemate between two rival gang families, headed by Seibei on one side and Ushitora on the other. They are both competing for domination of the local silk and sake trade. The competition is so fierce that each boss has appointed his own mayor and essentially owns a complete half of the village. Sanjuro sees this as a money-making opportunity.

Sanjuro, getting the lowdown and considering his money-making options.

He first strolls over to the Ushitora gang, goads some of them into attacking him, and effortlessly slays three of them in full sight of the Seibei clan, who is watching from the far side of the village main street. He walks over to Seibei and extorts major cash from him to side with him. After the deal, though, Seibei's venomous wife pulls her husband aside and convinces him to kill Sanjuro after he helps them exterminate Ushitora and his minions. Sanjuro overhears this, but does nothing immediately.

Emboldened by his new-found sell-sword, Seibei calls out the Ushitora clan and calls for a showdown. Both sides square off, but just as they are about to begin their slow approach towards each other, Sanjuro throws Seibei's money into his and his wife's faces, loudly proclaiming how insulted he is that they were plotting to assassinate him. He then calmly scales the central bell-tower, overlooking everyone. Seibei, now in no position to back down, begins the slow march towards Ushitora's gang. From on high, Sanjuro gleefully watches what he hopes will be a bloodbath that eliminates both gangs at once, without much effort on his part.

Unfortunately, just as the two gangs are about to start fighting, an inspector rides into town. Sanjuro's plan is stymied. He returns to Gonji's shop to plot his next move. He learns of a nearby murder of a local magistrate (conducted by Ushitora's men), and decides to wait and see which clan outbids the other for his services. He doesn't have to wait long, as Ushitora's comes with a very generous offer. Sanjuro refuses, saying that he has many offers to consider. Later that night, Ushitora's youngest brother, the handsome but psychotic Unosuke arrives, brandishing a brand new pistol.

The night deepens, and Sanjuro approaches Ushitora, offering to spy on Seibei for him. Ushitora accepts and pays Sanjuro. Shortly after, Sanjuro runs across the two drunken thugs who Ushitora sent to kill the magistrate. Sanjuro quickly rounds them up and brings them to Seibei, who pays him handsomely for the chance to have proof of Ushitora's assassination order. Sanjuro then quickly returns to Ushitora and informs him that Seibei has captured his men (leaving out the fact that he's the one responsible). This leads to a quick deal for a hostage swap: Ushitora gets his men back, and he will return one of Seibei's prized stable girls, Nui, whom he had stolen and pimped out to his puppet mayor. After one failed attempt, the deal eventually goes down, much to the dismay of Nui's poor husband and young son. Sanjuro watches the exchange with these last two, and shows no sympathy for the quivering husband.

Sanjuro goes to work. Scum-thugs flee in terror.

Without much ado, the homicidal Unosuke kills the two returned assassins, and his elder brother Ushitora returns Nui to the lecherous mayor's home. Sanjuro learns of the latter and coyly suggests that he check on the house, despite the six armed guards that Ushitora has placed there. Sanjuro goes with Ushitora's middle brother, the dull-witted thug Inusuke. Just before they arrive at the mayor's house, Sanjuro distracts Inusuke, pretends to have inspected the mayor's house, and then tells Inusuke that the six guards have all been killed. Inusuke, without bothering to check Sanjuro's story, runs back to his brother's house to rouse the troops. Sanjuro then storms the mayor's house, easily slaughters the six guards, and grabs Nui, whom he returns to her husband and son, who have been hovering just outside. They try to stay and offer their profound thanks, but Sanjuro disgustedly ushers them on their way.

Ushitora's men soon arrive at the mayor's house, which Sanjuro has just demolished in order to lend credence to his lie that the place had been stormed by a group of Seibei's men. Ushitora buys it, and they all return to his place in anger.

A few days later, Sanjuro is relaxing in Gonji's sake shop when he receives a letter from Nui and her husband, thanking him again for saving their lives. Sanjuro repeats his distaste for such “weak people”, though Gonji openly admires Sanjuro's heroism. Then, the cold-blooded Unosuke arrives with Inusuke. He has had his doubts about Sanjuro's tale about the mayor's house. In addition, he has heard through the grapevine that Nui and her husband have been seen in a nearby village, claiming to have been saved by a single skilled samurai. Sanjuro plays it cool and tries to dismiss the accusations and inconspicuously dispatch the note from Nui, but Unosuke sees and snatches it first. Sanjuro is finally caught in his deception. His sword is taken from him, leaving him all but defenseless.

Back at the Ushitora compound, Sanjuro is locked in a side room and beaten mercilessly for a full day. Eventually, he is left alone and he takes his chance. He crawls inside a chest and waits. When his two thug guards return and don't immediately see him, they believe he has escaped, panic and run out of the room, leaving the door open. Sanjuro painstakingly crawls out the door and, with agonizing slowness and a little luck, manages to evade Ushitora's brothers and gang.

He makes it to Gonji's and asks the sake maker to smuggle him out of town. Gonji and the local casket maker load Sanjuro into a casket and begin to carry him to the local cemetery. Just as they begin their trek, though, they see that Ushitora has launched an all-out assault on Ushitora's compound. Ushitora believes that Seibei is responsible for Sanjuro's escape, and he sets fire to his rival's house, with all of those fleeing the inferno being either cut down by a gang member or gunned down by Unosuke. Sanjuro watches from afar, the fact that half of the town's cancerous crime is dead bringing his battered body some small relief. He is then carried to a safe house on the outside of the village.

Sanjuro spends several days quietly recuperating and practicing hitting a moving leaf with a throwing dagger. He has also heard that Ushitora has fired most of his thugs, now that Seibei's entire crime family is dead. Both Gonji and the casket maker have been smuggling him food and water during this time, but a serious problem emerges. The casket maker informs Sanjuro that Gonji has been discovered and captured, and that Ushitora has him strung up in the middle of town. Sanjuro's decides to cut his recovery shorter than expected.

The final stand-off commences.

In the middle of town, Gonji hangs from a low gibbet, tied around his body and awaiting his fate. Less than a dozen gang members are left to support Ushitora and his two deadly brothers. Sanjuro walks into the center of town, only to be met by these last, most powerful criminals. A few words are exchanged, and then the fighting breaks out. Unosuke, predictably, pulls his revolver first, but Sanjuro is faster and hurls his throwing dagger, striking Unosuke directly in his shooting forearm. With this primary threat neutralized, Sanjuro routinely mows down everyone left with his sword.

With all of the criminals now dead, Sanjuro pronounces the town clean of its human filth and walks out, leaving it to Gonji, the casket-maker, and the scant few others remaining to rebuild anew.

Take 1: My Gut Reaction (Done after this most recent viewing, before any research.)

To use one of Quentin Tarantino's favorite phrases, this movie is bad-ass. Or, perhaps more accurately, Sanjuro Kuwabakate is bad-ass. So, what accounts for its bad-assitude? I thought you'd never ask...

Before really looking at the greatest strength of this movie, I have to give credit to several other impressive aspects. First is the story. The notion of having a seeming mercenary drift into a lawless town, wreck shop, save the remaining innocents, and coolly walk away from it is legendary. I'll have to do some digging to see if this idea has been used before (I'm reasonably sure it has), but Kurosawa molded it into one hell of a fun film to watch. Waiting to see just how Sanjuro would play one side against the other and take advantage of their own insecurities and paranoia is as entertaining as can be.

Here's a great scene. Sanjuro uses hits wits to con the doltish Inusuke, then his unmatched swordsmanship to dispatch basically everyone else who gets in his way:



The setting itself is worthy of mention. While this tale could easily be told in a large, thriving city, and in a more modern time, doing it in a tiny 19th century village lends a perfect sense of unity to everything that's happening. With such a limited cast of main characters and individual places, one can really sense how connected everything is and just how imminent the dangers are.

Of course, these two previous components are only enhanced by the flawless direction of Akira Kurosawa. By this point, Kurosawa was fully established as a brilliant filmmaker. While I know that he had some critics, I don't think that anyone can see a film such as Yojimbo and deny just how great he was at visual storytelling, pacing, and overall directing. Just one of the many great examples might be early in the movie, when Gonji is giving Sanjuro the low-down on all of the dirty dealings in the village. Both men are inside Gonji's weathered, wooden store, with Gonji excitedly throwing up the various windows as he points out the different factions and ne'er-do-wells. This short scene is filled with so much energy that you almost can't help but get caught up in it.

The crowning element of the whole thing, though, is Toshiro Mifune's turn as Sanjuro himself. Anyone who has seen both The Seven Samurai and Yojimbo has to marvel at the man's range. Sure, both roles were feudal-era Japan swordsmen, but they could not have contrasted more. Six years prior, he played an uncontrollable wildman. In Yojimbo, he portrayed a character as psychologically poised as a bamboo reed and cool as the snowy slopes of Nagano.

However, it would be hasty just to lump him into the standard “calm, calculating maverick hero” department. With Kurosawa envisioning Sanjuro as a generally amoral, eminently scruffy, and only occasionally fallable rogue, he created something new. Mifune brought the master director's vision to full life with his lazy gaze, shifting shoulders, and unhurried manner. Mifune did in 1961 what great character actors like Johnny Depp and Brad Pitt made careers of decades later.

Upon dissection, my guess is that most, if not all, of the components of Yojimbo have their inspiration in other direct sources. Still, I found it to be a fantastically unique and entertaining film. As long as one realizes that the scenarios and characters are rather ridiculous, it's easy to see this movie for the masterpiece that it is.

Take 2: Why Film Geeks Love This Movie (Done after some further research)

As suspected, Yojimbo was not created in a vacuum. Akira Kurosawa, a junky of the western noir and western film genres, apparently took the story and Sanjuro character ideas from one or two Dashiell Hammett novels, namely The Glass Key and Red Harvest. The visual style was adapted from classic John Ford westerns, most notably the now-standard scene of the hero in foreground, enemies in the distance, and dust blowing through the streets. In fact, this last element is almost comically overdone (intentionally?) in Yojimbo.

A great shot of Sanjuro, hopinng to watch the two gangs weed each other out, thanks to his own skillful machinations.

When it was released, Yojimbo was a massive hit. Kurosawa's name had already been well-established throughout the cinema world, both popular and critical, but Yojimbo offered something new. While it was still clearly a samurai movie, the character of Sanjuro provided a rather new creature: a true mercenary with only the odd pangs of morality. Essayist Alexander Sesonske gives a really interesting analysis of it here.

Popular audiences loved the sword-swinging action and the steady dose of sarcasm throughout the movie, and this is no surprise. What was a tad surprising to me is how universal the critical praise was for such a “western style” action film. This original TIME piece, in addition to raving about Yojimbo, offers a really insightful look at Kurosawa himself and his place in Japanese film history (it was already clearly staked out, even back in 1961).

Yojimbo may have borrowed certain elements from other, earlier, sources, but its mark has been so indelible as to have spawned several direct remakes, set in different places. The first, and probably the greatest, is the Sergio Leone spaghetti western, A Fistful of Dollars (1964). Other less notables include the science fiction version, The Warrior and the Sorceress (1984), and the return to black-and-white noir, Last Man Standing (1996). Love the first one. Never seen the latter two.

My final word? Steam up some rice, warm up some sake, and fire Yojimbo into the DVD player!

Coming Soon: The Manchurian Candidate (1962)

Chinese communists! Brainwashing!! Assassination plots!!! Angela Lansbury!!!! Frank Sinatra!!!!! How can one film have literally EVERYTHING??!!! Come on back later and find out!

Please be sure to pick up all empties on the way out.